


stars will guide you home

by Adamarks



Series: robots [1]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Carry On Tarot, Cyborgs, Gay Robots, Hope., M/M, Other, Tarot, The Star, Trans Characters, alcohol mention, brief weed mention, gay cyborg, go figure., i am trans and everyone is trans, i'm back on my bullshit, it's a single sentence, it's in the same sentence as the weed, kidnappings, knight of wands - Freeform, robot simon, robots can indeed fuck you guys, this is actually very bittersweet in mood., wow i had a fic kinda beta'd for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25273990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adamarks/pseuds/Adamarks
Summary: “Beautiful, Simon,” he whispered. Two fingers, one flesh and blood, one metal and silicone, traced down Simon’s chest.“What is?” Simon whispered back and captured his lips with its own. Warm skin against nonflammable silicone.“You are.”-My piece based on the card The Star for the carry on tarot event.
Relationships: Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: robots [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1831045
Comments: 21
Kudos: 55
Collections: Carry_On_Tarot_Collection





	stars will guide you home

**Author's Note:**

> I'VE BEEN WAITING SO LONG TO POST THIS DAMN THING!
> 
> Writing this was kinda harrowing, but i think it was worth it in the end. (: 
> 
> Caity, Clev, you guys are the sexiest betas a dude could ask for. ily. would die for u. 10/10 friends.
> 
> [i did make a silly playlist for this, if you're in the mood. :)](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7HBsyga0WNMTXWRxp1LaOC?si=Hi5zi07iR_6PxpzlzNgXQw)

_The Star in Reverse meaning: When you fear what tomorrow will bring, recognize that not all is lost._

_Paulina Cassidy_

_-_

  
  


The story begins nowhere special on a rather nonspecific day. A human man (tall, black, tattooed, bespeckled) leans over the turned down tailgate of a truck, pouring over a holo-map. He picks up a deck of cards— tarot, not playing— and shuffles them thoughtfully. 

Something moves in the bed of the truck. At first one would assume it’s a lump of hotrod red scrap metal, but as it whirrs and clicks and shifts, a definite figure emerges. Like a metallic dog, as big as a Saint Bernard, with four legs and four arms protruding from its back. The four arms, each sporting propellers, are folded back, and a whiplike, razor-sharp tail is tucked in carefully. 

This machine is a ninth generation DR4-gn: a military-grade AI, complete with flight and flame-throwing capabilities. Two blue lights, ocular sensors, watch as the man pulls out two cards at random. 

“Are you _sure_ this works?” It asks in a gruff, electronic voice. 

The human shrugs and finishes laying out the fifth card, the ten of cups. “It’s gotten us this far.” 

The DR4-gn’s antennae (one on each side of its head, like ears. Or horns) twitch in agitation. The cards _had_ gotten them this far, but _this far_ wasn’t where they _needed to be._

The human rubs his chin thoughtfully, hums. “Utah?” He says. 

“The fuck is in Utah?” 

“Beats me. Another clue? Salt Lake City?” 

The DR4-gn’s tail flicks in irritation. “Pull another card and ask.” 

“Yep,” says the man, shuffling once again. 

He tosses another card onto the truck bed and his heart stops. The DR4-gn’s internal fan cuts out. 

The card features a nude, dark-haired woman with dark brown skin. Her hands are cupped delicately as water floats up to kiss her palms. One foot stands solidly on the ground while the other rests on the surface of a clear pool. Small, shiny stars litter her skin. At the bottom of the card:

_17_

_The Star_

_Hope_

“Shepard…” the DR4-gn says. 

“It’s them,” the human, Shepard, confirms breathlessly. 

The DR4-gn climbs up onto the hood of the truck and looks back at Shepard. “Let’s _go.”_ It slithers through the window and into shotgun. 

Shepard quickly gathers up the cards and map projector. He slams the tailgate shut and slips into the driver's seat. 

“Utah, here we come.”

-

_The star in her hair is truly a star upon which to wish for little miracles, with the guilelessness of a child._

_Amy Zerner & Monte Farber _

_-_

“Simon,” Shepard says, turning to the DR4-gn currently curled up in the backseat. “I need to sleep, man. Your turn to drive.” 

The DR4-gn, Simon, sits up. “Alright.” 

Gears start clicking and mechanisms start whirring and Simon begins changing shape. Propellers disappear into sockets; hinges shift. A jigsaw puzzle being taken apart and rearranged to show a totally different image from before. 

Now, in the backseat, sits a humanoid form. Simon wiggles its fingers and smooths a hand over its bald scalp. Small flecks of green pepper its face where copper plating has begun to oxidise. 

It awkwardly climbs up over the console to get into the driver’s seat. It revs the engine obnoxiously as Shepard crawls into the back. The door slams, and Simon shifts the truck’s gearshift. 

A low rumble emerges from the undercarriage and the truck rises from the ground, one foot, two, five. It pumps the clutch and switches gears again. Shepard bunches his jacket under his head. Simon hits the gas.

They fly into the night. 

The roadways are empty. Their only company is moonlight and the dust the truck kicks up as it rushes by. 

Simon eyes the stack of cards sitting on the dashboard. Its hand creeps up to caress the top of the deck. 

It had called utter bullshit when Shepard had suggested a “great fortune teller friend” two months ago. They’d been out of options, though. Out of options, out of ideas, and not even the hint of a clue to go on. 

So Simon had agreed. 

And the fortune teller had known everything. 

She’d been able to get them a lead—a starting point— and before they’d left, she’d given Shepard this deck of cards. 

Simon drags a finger down the side of the deck. _“These will help you find them,”_ she’d said. And they had. 

The cards had taken them across an ocean, through the seedy underworld of illegal AI trading, and now, through a desert. And finally _(finally, finally)_ they’re almost there. 

Simon’s finger stops in the middle of the deck and extracts a card. It flips it around: _The Star._

_Seventy-eight cards and I choose you,_ it muses. The corner of its mouth turns up. 

The fortune teller had pulled The Star, too. She’d laid it down in front of them and jabbed her finger at it. 

_“Do not lose hope,”_ she’d said. “ _You’ll find them, and—“_ she’d tilted her ear, listening to something that cannot be heard— _“Yes, this. This card is them. Don’t stop hoping for them. Don’t stop wishing for them. They won’t give up hope in you.”_

Simon props the card up. The woman’s dark hair tumbles lazily down her back in soft, easy waves. The stars littering her skin make her look half-metallic. Simon squeezes the wheel. 

_Baz, I’m almost there._

  
  


-

  
  


_Imagine yourself on a journey at night. You see a fire up ahead. You are attracted to it. As you approach, you feel the heat of the fiercely blazing logs. Look around. What does this brightly flickering light illuminate?_

_Open your eyes._

_Amy Zerner & Monte Farber _

-

  
  


_“Beautiful, Simon,” he whispered. Two fingers, one flesh and blood, one metal and silicone, traced down Simon’s chest: a piece of titanium, newer than the rest of its plating. The bomb had shattered the original._

_“What is?” Simon whispered back and captured his lips with its own. Warm skin against nonflammable silicone._

I can’t feel like you, but at least I can feel you. 

_“You are,” he’d said. Simon ran a hand through long, black hair. Two eyes scorched through a fireproof exterior, one grey, one gently glowing fuchsia._

_“No, I’m not.”_

You are…

  
  


-

  
  


Simon flicks through radio stations. Dawn is fast approaching. Shepard snores softly from the backseat of the truck. 

Memories claw at the back of its mind. It had been easier to ignore them these past few weeks, but now they’re close. Now it’ll be able to touch his skin again. Hear his voice. He’s close enough that Simon can almost taste it. 

It flips past electro-pop, static, a news station, static, country-funk, static, static… 

It flexes a hand against the steering wheel. Exactly sixty-seven days since it’s held Baz’s hand. Sixty-six since it’s seen him alive, and well, and happy. 

_Sixty-six since the incident._

Simon squeezes the steering wheel a little too tightly and skips another station. 

There’s an ache that’s been growing deep within its metal walls. Like a nuclear bomb, the pain bloomed like a mushroom cloud when Baz was taken. Now the radiation is deteriorating all that was spared in the explosion. 

_Oh, well, I don’t mind, you don’t mind_

Simon pulls its hand from the stereo. The song is over a century old, but it’s calming. Simple. 

_‘Cause I don’t shine if you don’t shine_

It flows with the ache in its heart. 

Simon lets the tune play out, the whole thing interspersed with static. It does nothing to distract from the thoughts it’s trying to escape. If anything, it just pulls it farther in… 

_Before you go, can you read my mind?_

  
  


-

  
  


_When it was switched on, it was still waiting for the blast._

_It balled up tight to minimize damage, a shrill electronic scream ripping through it._

_Its memory hadn’t been wiped. The mechanic had done a sloppy job. An AI that had cost millions had been rendered to the worth of only a few thousand. Stolen, and rebranded as a bodyguard for the wealthy who thought themselves more important than they actually were._

_It sat in the shop, used, worn, and broken._

_Years passed in a haze. The danger of war was ingrained in its programming. The uselessness of sitting on a pedestal for purchase drew it thin. A world lit by fire and death dimmed. Safety became reprehensible compared to the danger of being useful. It sat, waiting— praying— to be junked._

_And then…_

_He’d waltzed in, all beautiful colors and sharp edges. Half machine, half human. Baz had looked at it with one gray eye promising the safety it’d come to loathe, and a bright pink light whispering of a danger different from what it had known before._

_The purchase and transfer had been a whirlwind. A personal bodyguard for a diplomat who’d been injured in a terrorist attack._

_A purpose. Freedom from the haze. A home. And lastly…_

_“What’s your name?”_

_“Wh- my model?”_

_“I said ‘name.’”_

_“I don’t... have one.”_

_“We’ll have to fix that.”_

-

_She moves gracefully through the healing waters of trust, knowing that all is possible and all can be rejuvenated._

_Paulina Cassidy_

-

They barge into the spare parts shop, Simon looking thuggish and Shepard just this side of _too_ friendly. A few words are exchanged, a few lives threatened, and they leave, pleased as peaches in July. Shepard decides a celebratory lunch is in order. 

“Well, that went well,” he says, sliding into a diner booth. “You really should lay off the threats, though. He was _about_ to tell me.” 

Simon sits across from him and shrugs. Shepard would’ve needed at least another hour, and Simon was getting antsy. 

They’d found their way, through shakedowns and tarot, to a hole-in-the-wall town just outside of Salt Lake City. The shop owner had given up the location and time of an underground auction taking place tomorrow night. The two of them have good evidence and faith that Penelope and Baz are being held captive in a bunker at the same location. 

Simon swirls its finger over the tabletop. 

_Penelope and Baz…_

It seems unreal that they’re so close. 

“What do you want to do when we get back to Britain?” Shepard asks wistfully, stirring a milkshake. (Simon’s not sure how it missed him ordering, let alone getting the shake.)

It runs a hand over its scalp. “I don’t know.” It hadn’t thought about it. In fact, it’d actively avoided it, as to not get its hopes up. 

“I think,” Shepard says, “I’d like to go on a vacation, just me and Penelope. France or something.” 

Simon hums. Truth be told, it’d love to fuck Baz senseless for a solid week. Or maybe just lie in bed with him, doing nothing— watching him breathe. (Both are good.) 

Honest-to-god, Simon had been so caught up in the now, it hadn’t stopped to consider the after. Would Baz _really_ go back to being a diplomat after this? (Yes.) Could Simon convince him not to? (No.) _Would all of this happen again?_

Maybe. 

Simon balls up its fist while Shepard slurps through a chunk of ice cream. 

_If they’re even alive._

-

  
  


_“It had been a bomb,” Baz whispered into the dark of the room. Simon’s sensors picked up on his breath tickling its face. “An assassination attack on my mother. She died, and I—“ he paused. Simon watched his robotic arm twitch. It wanted to smooth its hand down the plating; soothe him._

_“Did it hurt?” It asked._

_A breath. Two._

_“Yes. The fire ate me alive. Like flash paper.”_

_Simon touched the plate on its chest._

_Maybe it knew what that felt like._

  
  


-

  
  


Simon bends over so its rear is easily accessible. Shepard sighs and opens a hatch on its ass. 

“How much did you cost again? Originally,” he asks, inserting the gas nozzle into the opening of its fuel filler. 

“Forty-five million.” Simon opens its mouth and a gurgle that sounds not unlike a burp slips out. 

“Nice to know rich weapons designers have a sense of humor,” Shepard says dryly. “Million dollar sexbot,” he adds under his breath. 

Simon doesn’t comment. Truly, the only reason its gas filler is back there is for shits and giggles. It’s wholly inconvenient. It’s not flexible enough to refuel itself. 

_Baz is flexible…_

Simon shakes its head violently. Chugging it up the butt can lead a train of thought down an odd track. One that’s more than a little awkward to indulge in while a dude that’s _not_ your boyfriend is standing at your tailgate pumping you with liquid. 

_Jesus Christ._

“You okay, bro?” 

“Yep,” Simon answers too quickly. _His thighs around my head, my mouth on his—_

The gas stops pouring with a clunk and Shepard removes the nozzle. Simon is blessedly drawn away from thoughts of railing Baz. 

When Simon’s put back together and the gas is paid for, Shepard cleans his glasses and says, “We’re going to need the layout of this place. I’m going to chat some people up. You…” 

Simon heaves a sigh and rests its hands on its hips. “I’ll stay in the truck.”

  
  


-

  
  


_Its lips grazed down his neck, fingers crooking just so inside. Its heat sensors picked up a slow increase in temperature as blood rushed south. Simon’s thumb worked his clit, as Baz tangled his fingers deeper into the back of its neck._

_It’s easy to open the plating at its nape, easy for Baz to connect. You wouldn’t think an added low electric pulse would do so much, but—_

_Baz drew its face back up to his for a sloppy kiss. He sent another shock into Simon’s neck; its voice box skipped._

_Simon lightened its touch on Baz’s clit, making him moan and clench around its fingers. His thighs shook and his neck bent back and from his mouth spilled, like a promise, or a magic spell:_

_“Simon.”_

_A surge, a spark, stars exploding in its circuitry, and then—_

_After Simon’s system rebooted, it found Baz panting under it. He stroked its head and cupped its cheek. He looked relaxed, cozy. Somehow managing to be a lounge lizard beneath over a hundred pounds of machinery._

_Simon’s gaze drifted over the platinum across half of his face and the warm brown across the other. Both lit up blue from the shine of its eyes._

_“Baz?” It asked quietly._

_“Hmmmm?”_

_“Baz, I—“_

_-_

_Close your eyes and receive a message. Write it down on the star and keep it safe._

_Amy Zerner & Monte Farber _

_-_

Simon waddles behind Shepard, its tail scraping the pavement with each agitated flick. It’s tagged and muzzled and polished to a shine. 

Shepard is also kitted out— dressed to the nines (a.k.a. as expensively as possible) in a horribly spiffy orange blazer, green button down, and powder blue bell bottoms to round off the look. (Sometimes Simon having access to Baz’s bank account was a blessing.) He was the perfect combination of dapper, eccentric, and excruciatingly approachable: a rich man with too much time on his hands on his way to an expensive auction, his own toy along for display. 

Simon’s tail gives another twitch. Not its ideal costume for a rescue, but it’ll do. 

The soíree is being held at a large estate several miles outside the town. It’s a perpetual motion house: big, gaudy, balanced on a single large spike, and constantly on a slow rotation perpetuated by giant magnets. 

They approach an android at the front door, and before it can scan them, Simon’s tail whips up and pierces through the back of its neck, right into its hard drive. It collapses without theatrics, and they continue on, pictures of innocence. 

They swoop into a large ballroom, all shine and dazzle. A man waltzes by in a skirt of the latest fashion, an android donning fuzzy sex handcuffs trailing behind him. 

_Million dollar sexbot,_ Simon thinks blandly. 

Shepard sidles up to a person in a vest, booty shorts, and roller heels. He immediately begins working his magic: chatting them up. No lies, just a lack of truth and an infectious zest for life. 

Simon’s tail smacks irritably against the ground. Patience wasn’t its strong suit, and parties like these almost always made its joints creak in discomfort. 

Suddenly, the person bends down and holds their hand out invitingly. 

“It’s so ugly,” they coo. “Can I pet it?” 

“Go ahead!” 

Simon bites down on the impulse to growl as their greasy hand combs down its back. Their gaudy rings clack annoyingly against its armored plating. They’re lucky it’s muzzled, else it’d snap at them. 

Just then, a waiter comes over with a tray of alcohol and an assortment of hyperrealistic weed gummies in the shapes of various tiny fruits (cherries, pears, bananas, bunches of grapes). The petting (blessedly) ceases as they get distracted by the tray. 

Simon turns away and starts gauging the room. The plan was to chit chat until cocktail hour was over, then slip away when everyone else moved to the dining room. Which left at least another hour before they’d be properly mobilized. 

_God,_ it hates parties. 

  
  


-

  
  


_Simon watched as Baz worked the room, its eyes following him as if they were a lost ship and he the North Star._

_Baz was an astounding diplomat of his time, creating bridges and pathways and peace. Simon had always supposed his purpose had been the polar opposite: burning bridges and ending lives. It’d been given a gift though, a light at the end of the tunnel. A redemption it didn’t deserve. It made Simon uncomfortable; it made it hopeful; it made it brave._

_An older man chuckled at his own joke and Penny and Baz exchanged a brief glance. A poor joke, then._

_The whole shindig was being held for the prelaunch for Penelope’s new medicine. (Simon wasn’t entirely sure what she’d manage to cure. Something important, it assumed.)_

_Simon stood at the edge of the room, twelve paces from another security bot. It’d tried to insist on higher security for the event— only it, four security bots, and two human bodyguards were in attendance— but it’d been shot down at every turn._

_The event was three hours in, though, and everything was running smoothly. So Simon had begun to relax. Maybe it_ had _overreacted. It was a prelaunch for a_ medication _for Christ’s sake._

_Baz took a sip of his champagne and his eyes slipped towards Simon. Simon let its gaze travel up and down his body for a brief second. He looked_ too _good in those booty shorts…_

_A smile, the slightest tilt of a head, moving across the room—_

_Someone bumps into it and doesn’t bother apologizing. Simon spares them a glare before continuing to the doorway—_

_A jolt._

_Warning: Overheating_

No, no no no—

_Warning: System Malfunction_

He’s in danger—

_Beginning Emergency Shutdown_

Baz—

  
  


-

  
  


_When Simon came back online, Baz and Penelope were gone._

  
  


-

_Water is the path of nonresistance and man has a choice to alter his way through new opportunity._

_Stuart R. Kaplan_

-

  
  


Simon grabs the head of a security bot and rips it clean off. It turns on its heel and throws the severed head with such velocity that it blows straight through another bot’s chest. The propellers on its back whir, and it lifts into the air before crashing down hard onto another one, demolishing it. 

Simon grabs Shepard by the back of his shirt and pulls him behind it.

_Fuck, I wish Baz hadn’t had my guns disabled,_ it thinks miserably. _‘Setting a good example’ my tinny ass._

With a giant roar, flames hot enough to rival a dying star come spewing from its gaping mouth. The remaining bots melt (along with part of the floor, walls, ceiling—) and their path is cleared. 

Simon picks up Shepard and starts running through the melted hallway. 

“You’d think after two months we’d be better at this,” Shepard muses. Simon immediately slips on melted plastic, as if to prove his point. 

Shepard points, looking at the map projecting from his watch. “Down that hall and make a left.” 

Simon turns and starts sprinting as directed. Alarms are blaring. Red lights are flashing. More bots are on their way to kill them. 

Simon can’t stop smiling. 

_Hi, Baz. I’m here._

  
  


_-_

  
  


_They were sitting together on the roof, overlooking the skyline. Their fingers tangled together, and Baz’s hair triggered Simon’s motion sensors with every sway of the breeze._

_“Simon.”_

_“Hmmm?”_

_“I love you.”_

_Simon’s head swung towards him. Its mouth dropped open._

_Baz was staring resolutely ahead. His Adam’s Apple bobbed as he swallowed._

_“Oh,” Simon mumbled._

  
  


-

  
  


Simon crashes through the door and lands with a _thud._ Penny screams. Baz swears. 

_Penny._

**_Baz._ **

Simon sits up and sees Baz standing, looking frazzled, looking tired, looking skinny, looking beautiful, _looking alive looking—_

“Simon?” 

Simon hurls itself at him. It wraps him in a bone-crushing hug and Baz gives it a lip-mashing kiss and—

And—

_I found you._

_You’re safe._

_My star, my light, my life._

_We’re going home._

  
  


-

  
  


_Simon squeezed his hand as he tried to pull away._ ‘Oh’ _was probably not good._

_Its mouth worked, unsure of what to do._

_And then it looked back out at the skyline, and let its insides settle._

_“I love you too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> All quotes come from Enchanted Tarot by Amy Zerner & Monte Farber, Spiritsong Tarot by Paulina Cassidy, and Tarot Classic by Stuart R. Kaplan. All quotes are descriptions for The Star card, except the one about fire at night, which is for the Knight of Wands. 
> 
> thank you for coming on this robot journey with me. i'm sure i'll be back in the robot mines someday soon.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] stars will guide you home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25427506) by [ueberdemnebelmeer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ueberdemnebelmeer/pseuds/ueberdemnebelmeer)




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